


Package

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Christmas Prompts [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A-Z Christmas Prompt, Awesome Sarah Sawyer, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, Coming In Pants, Finger Sucking, M/M, Mentioned Mrs Hudson, Mild Smut, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Pants, Sarah Sawyer is mischievous, Scheming Sarah Sawyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: Sarah’s warm hand curled around his bicep just as he was stepping out of his office to head home and he turned with a smile, half panicking when she returned it with a grin of pure mischief, “Here,” she said cheerfully, handing him a Christmas wrapped package, smiling reindeer flying across a dark blue, star speckled sky. There was also a tag, with his name scrawled on it and several penned kisses, a small message on the other side as he flipped it over to read. It was a short note, one that seemed overly casual in the most sceptical way.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Christmas Prompts [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559605
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	Package

Sarah’s warm hand curled around his bicep just as he was stepping out of his office to head home and he turned with a smile, half panicking when she returned it with a grin of pure mischief, “ _Here_ ,” she said cheerfully, handing him a Christmas wrapped package, smiling reindeer flying across a dark blue, star speckled sky. There was also a tag, with his name scrawled on it and several penned kisses, a small message on the other side as he flipped it over to read. It was a short note, one that seemed overly casual in the most sceptical way. “You’re a hard person to buy for, Dr Watson - Thankfully I had some help from that _lovely_ landlady of yours. She knew _just_ what to get you. Just what suited. - I know it’s a few days late but… our days are always hectic this time of year.” Sarah shifted to stand closer to him when he looked the gift over, the grin on her face never faltering, her hands cradled innocently at her front. John narrowed his eyes on her. "Plus, you know, you're always off doing something or act so stand-offish that I decide it's better to leave you be."

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I can be a bit... withdrawn and times,” John replied, genuinely surprised by the gift and also extremely suspicious. He hadn't expected to retrieve one from any of the staff, any co-worker, not beyond the forced Secret Santa, of course, and for Sarah to go out of her way to buy him something, to get in touch with Mrs Hudson to run things by her, and to hand it to him personally, he was somehow both pleasantly flattered and immensely dubious. He looked down at the perfect placed wrapping paper, smoothing his fingers over it, and nodded in thanks. “You didn't have to go to any trouble for me. - Thank you though, I really appreciate it.” He squidged the gift, glancing from it to her and back. It felt like clothing, but it was too small for a top or trousers. “Should I... open it now?”

“Oh God, yes, I _insist_ ,” Sarah told him, tilting her head in glee and waiting. “I won’t be seeing you Christmas day, you see, and I would _really_ like to know what you think. To, uh, to see your reaction!”

Now John was definitely suspicious and he wondered what terrible tricks Mrs Hudson been up to this time. What more could she do? 

Carefully ripping at the tape that held it closed, peeling back the wrapping paper, John moved it to the side to peer within and frowned as he looked at what seemed like a small black rectangle of fabric. Neatly folded fabric. He opened it up, eyes going wide and mouth falling open as he looked at his present. It was a pair of pants. Black boxer short pants, but where the fly was positioned was a cartoon elf, or rather the body of the elf, as it's head was replaced with the head of Sherlock, the expression on his face half smug and half contented. A Sherlock elf cupping and basically hugging the part where John's flaccid penis would rest and come out of.

“What the…” John muttered, looking at it again before glancing up at Sarah wordlessly, mouth still slightly agape, jaw working for a moment as he attempted to articulate. To ask questions. To say something, anything, that might help him understand where this had come from, why Mrs Hudson had helped Sarah buy this for him. What was his life?

“Do you like it?” she asked before bursting out into a fit of giggles and throwing her head back. Sarah then reached to pat his shoulder, slipping closer to give him a small hug. “I’m sorry… but also I’m _really_ not! - It’s perfect! It's _exactly_ what he does. He’s a naughty little possessive elf who has you, fundamentally, by the crotch!” Sarah’s grin got wider and she leaned in to kiss his cheek, glancing down at the underwear with another giggle. “ _Great_ picture of him, isn’t it? Unfortunately not my doing. - I’m not sure _where_ your landlady got it from. He has a cracking expression on his usually stoic face. I even took a copy for myself.”

“Er… yeah, yeah, it's certainly... _something,_ ” John responded, agreeing at least that Sherlock did look rather happy for once in his picture, he just wished it wasn't right where his privates were supposed to be. “Oh that Mrs Hudson, she's a right – _joker_.”

“She certainly is. _Great_ sense of humour,” Sarah agreed and wiped her lipstick off his face with a sigh. “You must find it at least a _little_ amusing?”

“Mm...” John nodded slightly, giving a tight, unsure smile, not certain what he thought of it exactly. He couldn't keep his eyes from it, that was for sure. “It's _unusual_ , I'll give you that...” He huffed out a laugh and leaned in to kiss her cheek in return, still unable to tear himself away from Sherlock's face on some underwear. “Thank you. It's... _great_. - Although I'm not sure that I'll show Sherlock... I wouldn't hear the end of it probably. And you're already on Sherlock's shit list...”

“Not going to show him? Really? - Well, it’s up to you, of course, but… either you show him _now_ or he finds it _later_. Which would you prefer?” Sarah asked him and giggled once more at the pants, bumping her hips into his, smelling sweet and radiating a warm, pleasant aura. “They should fit you, by the way. I made sure. Double checked. - And you need more underwear. I see how often you have to... _rearrange_ yourself.”

“ _Oh my sweet Jesus_ ,” John groaned under his breath. This was actual torture. This was against the Geneva conventions of cruelty. Not only did Mrs Hudson now, apparently, have a friendly relationship with his boss, his ex, but apparently they had discussed the size of his pants, the amount he had, and his constant need to fix his testicular positioning. He hoped the earth would swallow him whole. He wanted to disappear. Wanted to leave. “Thanks. _Again_. They're great. - I should be off though… Sherlock and I have plans...”

Sarah’s eyebrow twitched up, unconvinced, “ _Sure_ you do, yeah. Cases to solve and all that,” she murmured, “Lighten up, John. It could have been _a lot_ worse. There were many other options lined up…” Stepping away after another embrace, Sarah gave a wink and turned, strolling off toward were the receptionist was waiting with her mouth covered to try and hide her mirth. “Say hello to Sherlock for me.”

“Mmhm, will do!” John called out, quickly pushing the underpants into his coat pocket and picking up his bag, keeping his eyes forward as he fled the clinic and was barely outside the doors before he heard the raucous laughter from within. He flinched and rolled his eyes. Just his luck. Had she shown it around first before she had wrapped it up, was that it? She was a menace! 

The journey back home was filled with his thoughts. Thoughts on everything. Thoughts on the gift, on his relationship with Sherlock, on the scheming carrying on of his landlady. How had this happened? Why had this happened? He already had issues with whatever it was that he now had with Sherlock, with the tension between them, the growing something that only got harder to ignore, to understand. How would Sherlock feel about this gift? Why had Mrs Hudson got involved? Why underpants‽

He pushed open the front door quickly once he was at the flat, heading straight upstairs and kicking off his shoes, though he left his coat on, using it, for the moment to hide the pants as he tried to think of somewhere else to stash them where Sherlock wouldn't see, couldn't find, or was able to deduce, in anyway, what he had received. The possibility of trying, however, of rushing to his room to hide, was ended when John walked face-first into Sherlock, knocking his forehead into his shirt-clad torso. It made him stumble and grunt, muddling his already messy mind.

“ _Shit_...” John humphed, righting himself and forcing a smile, tugging on his coat, trying not to be obvious about putting his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, didn't, uh, didn't see you there.”

“Yes, _hello_ to you too, welcome home,” Sherlock murmured and frowned at him, head cocking to one side, eyes instantly narrowed in a millisecond on him. John felt himself deflate in defeat, felt a wince pull at his face, hand automatically going tightly around the underwear, but Sherlock only reached for his cheek, rubbing his thumb roughly into one specific area. “Lipstick…”

“Mm, Sarah,” John explained, watching him closely while trying not to give anything away. Having Sherlock's hand on him made it hard for him to think. Made everything hard. “Wishing me Merry Christmas in case we don't see one another over the next week or so... which we probably won't.”

“Wished you Merry Christmas... with a _kiss_?” Sherlock asked, trying to sound casual despite his clenched jaw and pinched mouth. 

“Was just a peck. Nothing special,” John replied dismissively, waving it away, feeling amused and flattered by Sherlock's grouchiness, his jealousy. Was it jealousy? Had it always been jealousy? Was it just an attention thing? Did he just not want John to be distracted and pulled away again, or was there more? “Nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock looked away and gave a nonchalant shrug, dropping his hand and altering his stance, “I’m _not_ worried,” he retorted, “just think it's a bit _unprofessional_ , that’s all. - Considering you two are no longer dating and have therefore resumed a working relationship instead of a romantic one. Aren't really meant to kiss co-workers. Nor date them, now we're on the subject--” 

"Oh for _goodness sake_..." John mumbled, heating up at his words but smiling in amusement. “Here, I'll show you... it was... it was like this...” He leaned toward him, pushed up onto his tiptoes and gave Sherlock's cheek the briefest, softest of kisses. He was mad. He was absolutely mad. “See? Not... uh, not unprofessional at all really. Just friendly. We're friends now. Just... um...”

“ _Ah yes_ … the friend kisses. _Brilliant_ ,” he muttered and turned to flounce off, only to stop, turn back around and frown, pointing. “Why are you still wearing your coat?”

Cursing his rubbish luck, John panicked and tried desperately to come up with an excuse, tried to figure out what he could say that would put Sherlock off or satisfy him, however his brain wasn't working, couldn't fully comprehend the enormity of the situation and how vital it was for him to say something profound, “I, uh, I have an erection and it's a bit, you know, _embarrassing_. Got it on the way here. You know how it is with vibrations on public transport.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows jumped up for a moment in bemusement and then he squinted, slowly closing the distance between them again, “What did she give you?”

“ _Nothing_! - Who, Sarah? Yeah, _nothing_ ,” John said a little bit too shrill and a little bit too rapid to be believed. He sighed, rubbed at his brow and grimaced, lifting a hand in submission, giving in while he still had some remaining dignity. Dignity he knew he was going to lose the moment he showed the underwear. “It's just – _stupid_. It was a silly gift and – _Apparently Mrs Hudson helped_ – and I didn't even know they had talked!” 

“... So it’s an embarrassing gift?” Sherlock murmured and began to smirk, holding out his hand with impish delight. “Let’s see then.”

“Do you have to? It's... it's… I _just_...” Dropping his head down, John sighed and then pulled out the pants, holding them open to show Sherlock the design. 

The smirk wobbled for a moment, almost disappearing entirely, before it contorted and Sherlock took the underwear in his fingers, staring at the image, at the cut-out placed photo of himself, “That’s my face…” he uttered. “ _My fac_ e… on a disproportionate cartoon elf’s body… printed on a pair of… boxer shorts...” His lips twitched, going wonky as he fought with the evident need to laugh or worse, with a raising, crushing tidal rant. "This—"

“Yeah… Yeah, _I know_ ,” John nodded, cringing. “According to Sarah you have me ' _by the crotch_ ' so why not represent that on some pants? I thought it was ridiculous. Still do think so.”

“Sounds like jealousy to me,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath, though loud enough for John to catch. John sent him a mild glare, finding that a bit ironic coming from him. He watched with bated breath as Sherlock then tasted the elastic, fingered the fabric, and then checked the size. “Not cheap, which is perhaps the most surprising thing compared with anything else. And you _do_ need some new underwear—”

“ _Why_ does everyone keep saying that?” John asked, throwing his arms in the air, which caused Sherlock's elf persona to wiggle. “Listen, my pants are _fine_ , thank-you-very-much! Perfectly fine!”

Sherlock scoffed and loomed into his personal space, threw open John's coat, yanked his shirt from his trousers, and reached down to tug up a very worn looking waistband, “ _This_ is fine? - All, but _two_ , are like this, John--”

“ _Oi!_ ”

"You hang onto the most hole-ridden, loose, frayed, and _ugly_ pairs of pants that I have ever seen!"

"Oh, shut it!" John hissed, shuffling his hips backwards when Sherlock continued to tug and stretch with emphasis, a motion that only served to cause more pain, more humiliation, as the waistband slapped against his stomach weakly. “They _were_ designer ones! I mean… yeah, okay, that was maybe _five years ago_ , but they still work! They still do what they were made to do. - I'm not fussy what they look like as long as they hold my tackle!”

“But they _don’t_!” Sherlock exclaimed with a small rumbling laugh, reaching instead to hook his long fingers into the belt hoops. “Granted, men have to arrange themselves throughout the day for one reason or another anyway, but you do it _far too often_ , John. I doubt you even realise how much.”

“So, what, you want me to walk around in a pair of pants with your _face_ against my bellend? Is _that_ your suggestion?” 

“As unflattering as they _are_ , they’re new and you _need_ them.”

"I don't think I do."

"You _do_ ," Sherlock told him, leaning in, forcing John to arch back and cross his arms, “Who's going to know anyway? _Hm_? - Even Sarah and Mrs Hudson, they won’t _know_. Not unless you show them, which you won’t, so I don’t see what the problem is here?” He tugged John a few shuffling inches closer, giving a slanted grin, following his recline with an incline, bending further, as if he was sending John into an elegant dip. “Could be worse? Could be the face of a children’s cartoon character—”

“ _Those_ are my muppet ones,” John huffed, “And they're _comfortable_.”

“If it’s just comfort that you’re interested in, not appearances, then wear them and check them out,” Sherlock said, leaning in closer and closer until John couldn't arch back any further. It was then that Sherlock kissed him on the lips gently, eyes flicking sideways to the dreaded pants, therefore missing how hard John blinked at the touch. “I thought you… liked my face?”

“... Yeah. Yeah, I _do_ ,” John exhaled, tipping his head at an angle, pulled to Sherlock, moved with a pulse of heat, of want, of deep seated affection. Looking at him up close, John studied the way the fibrous ocean of his irises rippled with each dilation and contraction of the pupil, as he nuzzled his nose against the side of Sherlock's. “ _Especially_ when its right next to my groin… " John swallowed at his mindless admittance and stared back when Sherlock looked at him, into him. " _But_... I, uh, I didn't want that represented on my _pants_.” 

Sherlock moved to rest their brows together, “She probably expects you _not_ to wear them. So you _should_. Just to spite her.”

John couldn't help but grin, “Yeah, Just so happen to be tucking my shirt in when she walks into a room, give her a peek of your hair and eyes along under the elf hat,” he snorted, feeling himself blush, feeling something stir within him. Having Sherlock so close made him high on arousal. “It's _ridiculous_ but... yeah, I sort of – I love it. - You know, I was unsure about how you'd react, but if you like it then, I can like it too... I guess...”

“How did you think I was going to react exactly?” Sherlock questioned in curious interest, tugging John by the belt hoops for another kiss and then smoothing his hands up and down John’s shirt, getting rid of wrinkles and creases, before he palmed over his shoulders, down his arms, pushing the coat off. "What were you afraid of?"

“I thought you might have been... somewhat offended,” John answered quietly, allowing Sherlock to touch and divest him of his outerwear, even when he shouldn't, when he needed to distance himself to think properly, to calm down. He was already half hard. Already fighting to keep from doing more than kissing. “I thought you might have assumed they were belittling you or taking the piss.” He found himself abruptly cupping Sherlock's cheek and moved to the corner of his mouth, lips touching with every exhale. “I didn't... didn't want you to feel _humiliated_.”

“It’s perhaps a _tad_ humiliating. And I’m sure she was _definitely_ trying to take the piss. But… no, I’m not overly offended by it,” Sherlock replied, taking the coat to fold over one of his arms. “Not by the underwear anyway. The _kiss_ , on the other hand…” He gave the spot that had been marked with lipstick a heated glare and another rub with his thumb, cradling the side of John's face. “No doubt _that_ was done deliberately. Conniving woman.”

“If it makes you feel better, I have _no_ interest in her _whatsoever_ anymore...” John promised, not expecting to, pushing his mouth to Sherlock's lips, then up to his cheek, neck and under his ear, drowning in him. Feeling the well-known tension, the previously ignored rush, overtake him. “Only for my little elf...”

“ _Little_?” Sherlock snorted, leaning into him and then shooting him a slight smirk. “Go get out of your work clothes. - Perhaps try the underwear on while you’re at it.”

“You want me to _show them off_?” John scoffed, but he was feeling giddy with desire, with a strange kind of happiness, and he nudged against Sherlock's chin until a kiss was bestowed, then another, and another. It took everything he had, everything in him, and the fact they were out in the open, for John to stop and think and speak. “Let me... have a quick shower first, and I'll come back...”

Sherlock gave a nod and stepped away, wafting out John's coat and refolding it over his arms, “Go on then. Plenty of hot water today, so enjoy yourself.” 

Wanting to take full advantage of that fact, that rare gift, it didn't take long for John to stumble into the bathroom, get undressed and give himself a good scrub under that nicely steaming spray of heated water, shoulders relaxed, head turned up, eyes closed. He was unable to fully bask in it though, unable to take pleasure in how easily the sweat and smells of the day were being washed away, because he couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. Not uncommon, not since he'd first met the man. He couldn't stop thinking that Sherlock's reaction had been better than he had anticipated. That Sherlock seemed in good spirits overall. He had been convinced that Sherlock would have gone into a snit, yet instead he'd seemingly loved seeing himself like that. It slightly boggled John's mind. Especially when the pants had led to kissing, kissing he knew he shouldn't really encourage, but kissing that he just couldn't give up, couldn't stop. 

When he'd dried himself off, John moved to stand in front of the bathroom sink to wipe it the condensation off the mirror and look at his reflection, checking the state of his hair and skin, and caught sight of the underwear from the corner of his eye. They were slumped on the toilet lid where he'd flung them, Sherlock's face staring over at him from the crotch, the slight smile on his face seeming almost challenging, egging him on to at least try, to see, to go through with it, if only for curiosity's sake. After a returning glare to the blameless pants, lips tightening and jaw cocking aside, John exhaled a long sigh through his nose and grabbed for them, shimming them up to cup and cover his genitals. With them in place, he had to admit that they were a good fit. They held him well, clung in all the right places, and where the image had been added wasn't as awkward feeling as he had thought it might be. They were stupidly comfortable. How could they not be with the world against him so often recently?

Deciding that he couldn't just walk out in the pants and nothing else, John reached for his robe and wrapped it around himself, trying to figure out how he would leave, how he would make his return to Sherlock's side. If he was returning to him. Should he even return? Show him? Wasn't that weird? Wasn't this entire situation weird, his whole life? If he came out, robe on, trying to play coy and get back to his room, it would only cause interest, only bring Sherlock to him, make him stalk after, and he wanted to show him, wanted to get it out of the way quickly, going out coyly would be extra strange. He was a thirty year old GP, not a burlesque performer. If he acted confident, if he just walked through to get to his room or, if he went through with showing Sherlock, letting him win and drop his robe, standing proud, that wouldn't work either, that would be equally as strange. Rubbing his face, John choose to just go. Just go for it, whatever it was, whatever he wanted once he stepped out. He had no idea what he was in for in terms of Sherlock's reaction to either decision, but he needed to bite the bullet. He couldn't really stay and hide in the bathroom forever.

Gathering up his work clothes close to his chest and opening the bathroom door, John shivered as the cool air rushed against his damp skin and cautiously walked into the kitchen, feeling as shy as a teenager and just as pathetic, “Okay, they're on...” he called out to Sherlock as he looked at the door to the landing, unsure if he wanted to leave or stay. Stay and show, or leave and hide. Stay. Leave. Show. Not show. “Comfortable. _Of course_. I hate to admit it, really do, but, yeah. - Did you... want to see? Or...?”

Springing up from his sprawled out position on the sofa, making John jump, Sherlock bounded over with an airy laugh and a smile that crinkled his eyes, “Go on then, seeing as you’re offering,” he replied and came to a halt a few feet in front of John, gaze already darting, jumping, sweeping over him from head to toe. “So they feel good? Comfortable?”

“Surprisingly so,” John admitted with a sigh and nod, wincing at the acceptance. “They're... supportive too. More than they have any right to be.”

Tilting his head with a hum, smile slipping up higher on one side, Sherlock took a step closer, “I thought as much. Good. That’s good. Hopefully now you’ll cut down on the amount of times you _fiddle_.” 

“I still _refuse_ to believe that I 'fiddle,' especially as much as everyone claims,” John grumbled, putting the bundle of his work clothes down on the kitchen table and messing with the sash of his dressing gown. He could still stop this. Could still refuse and leave, and hide. Stay or leave. Show or hide. “I've _never_ noticed that I fiddle all that much.”

“Yes, well, you _wouldn’t_ , would you?” Sherlock scoffed. “It’s similar to when you have a cold and you continually sniff, sometimes without really knowing how much, without realising how _irritating_ it is.” He looked down at John’s hands and his expression softened, then dropped in diffidence, leaning back on his heels. “You don’t _have_ to show me… just knowing that you're wearing them is treat enough--”

“ _No_ … no it's – fine. It's fine. I, um, I might as well. Because you'll just... sneak up on me when I least expect it,” John told him, knowing his anxious movements said otherwise. He'd chosen then. Perhaps he'd already decided before he'd left the shower? Even so, he couldn't help but worry that this was a truly terrible idea, that all of it was terrible. He was terrible. What was this? What were they? When would his ridiculous feelings for Sherlock subside and break him, break them, make it all explode into jagged, agonising pieces? Why would he quit this? Shoving all thoughts to one side, John took a deep breath, knowing he was going to regret it all when things went sour, when he was left with nothing, and opened his robe, standing there in the traditional flasher pose, showing Sherlock his pants. His stupid elf pants.

Sherlock blinked, looked him up and down, and then burst out laughing, turning away to cover his face and bend at the waist, “I’m… I’m _sorry_! It’s… it’s _not_ you… it’s not… it’s…” he gasped, waving a hand towards him and pointing. “My… _my face_!”

“...What... what about it?” John asked, not being able to see anything wrong with how it seemed from his point of view. He shifted, tugged at them nervously, and pulled one half of his robe over. “I don't understand! What's _so_ funny?”

“ _Oh God_ …” Sherlock continued, staggering to lean against John’s armchair in uncontrollable hysterics. He pointed again and then tried to explain with some rapid hand movements and choppy, incoherent words, unable to stop, unable to even stand. 

“I—What on _earth_ is it? What's funny!” Deciding to see for himself, John wandered into Sherlock's bedroom where the full length mirror was and opened his robe again, shifting to see what the fuss was, what had made Sherlock lose all control of himself, and it didn't take long for him to understand. " _Oh_..."

John knew he was rather blessed in the trousers department. His dick had been a legend in the barracks, had been the subject of wonder and ridicule, and now it was causing some bother with elf Sherlock's face, mostly that its massive size was amusingly distorting it and almost giving him a lopsided, Quasimodo quality about it. It wasn't the funniest thing he'd seen, but it was funny enough to bring his own burst of laughter, and John turned, seeing that Sherlock had followed him, and as soon as their eyes met, that small burst became an explosion, setting Sherlock off again, until they were both crying mirth, unable to stop, unable to do anything else.

“I… I look so _deformed_!” Sherlock exclaimed, collapsing down on the edge of his bed and wiping at his tearing eyes, face flushed and hair a mess. “ _Oh God_ … I can’t breathe for laughing…” He put his hand up for a moment to block out the sight and looked away, trying to calm down and stop, trying to get control of himself. "It's... it's not even that funny. It's _really_ not."

“ _No_. No, but... it does look _absolutely ridiculous_ ,” John acknowledged with a snorting giggle, glancing down at himself again and pulling the fabric taut to try and fix things, only making it more distorted, more stupidly hilarious. “I bet Sarah didn't expect this outcome when she bought it...”

“Possibly not. Though with her and Mrs Hudson, who _really_ knows,” Sherlock replied through his hitching breath, crooking his fingers to signal John over, closer, and holding onto his robe when he was within touching distance. “Apart from… _that_ … it’s good. It’s fine. Fits _very_ adeptly. Conforming perfectly to every line, every bump and lump.” He chuckled briefly and then looked at him, cheeks still red, fingers curling and pulling him so he was standing between Sherlock's spread legs. “You fill them well.”

John ducked his head, face quickly aflame, and nodded, feeling his heart jolt and cock twitch, “Uh. Yeah. Thank you. It's good, yeah. - Though it still does feel a bit weird to have your face on my dick though... not sure I'll get used to that, no matter how often it happens...”

“...No?” Sherlock asked in a light murmur, stroking his hand up the robe lapel and then across onto John’s skin, tracing his collarbones with tickling fingers. “Why not?”

“It's just odd...” John muttered, letting his head fall back slightly, feeling his want for him, need, desire building. Each touch sent him spinning down the never-ending whirlpool of impure lust. “Still... um... still new and... _exciting_. - Little bit scary too, if I'm being honest.” They were talking about something else. This was something else. "Like staring down the barrel of a gun..."

Humming, Sherlock brought those long, nimble, coarse-padded fingers of his down along the centre of John’s torso, pausing on the way for a skimming touch of his navel, and then spreading to press and caress along the clinging waistband, “ _Scary_ …” he echoed. “I… suppose so…”

“Just because it's so new... _different_... so easy get... get wrong, you know?” John whispered, feeling his cock beginning to plump up, his skin becoming sensitised to every caress, every breath, every prickle of goosebumps and erecting hairs. “It's good though… it feels good. - _Doesn't it_?--”

“I’m going to take you in my mouth now,” Sherlock informed in a low dazed mumble, lithely slipping to his knees without hesitation, without giving John time to interject or think or move. Though he wasn’t sure he would. Wasn’t sure he could. Even if it might be the best that he did, best if they talked, if they found a way to get through this together, instead of separated, leaving John to doubt and panic and question alone. "I _want_ you in my mouth."

“ _Oh_...” John managed after a moment, gripping at Sherlock's shoulders tightly and straightening upright as he looked down at Sherlock's pretty face and hair. It was surreal, and although it wasn't the first time Sherlock had done this, John hadn't been able to see him then, not properly, not completely, whereas now, now he could see everything. Could see the way Sherlock's lips pursed forward eagerly, how his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark with excitement, as he ran his nose up the growing bulge in John's new pants. _"Oh Christ_..."

“You… can _come_ in my mouth,” Sherlock told him, breathing hotly against his own printed on face, mouth quirked ever so slightly. “I want to _taste_ it.” Peeking through his lashes at John, he then opened his jaw to mouth at the thickening, hardening, extending squashed length of him, sucking through the material very faintly. "I... want it running down my... my _throat_..."

“Oh _Jesus_ ,” John moaned, digging his fingers into Sherlock's trapezius muscle. “Keep talking like that and it might not take long until you get your wish...” Moving one hand, John cupped and stroked Sherlock's cheek, letting his thumb run across Sherlock's lip, before groaning when Sherlock took the digit into his mouth and gave that a suck. " _Fuck_."

Tilting his head up, Sherlock gazed at him and licked up along the caught digit, letting it go only to snort and blush, “I see you like getting more than one thing _sucked_ …”

Running his moist thumb across Sherlock's cupid's bow, John then drew it up his cheek, quivering bodily, swaying forward and rolling his waist, “Yeah. _Course_. But only because of your lips… they're _indecent. -_ That's going to be in my wank-bank for years... ” 

“What else is in this bank of yours?” Sherlock asked breezily as he reached to take hold of John’s aching erection, feeding it out through the underwear to bob in the space between them with a visible throb, and cupping the flushing tip, stroking the edges of flared, sensitive glans, taking them into his mouth with a clever, curling tongue.

“ _Fuck_ —Your hands... the... _God_ , the idea of you touching yourself and... letting me watch. It's _incredibly_ erotic to imagine… and I do it _a lot,_ ” he confessed with a dry chuckle, only realising what he'd said, what he'd let out, seconds after it was done. He couldn't take it back. Did he even want to? Why did he have to be drunk or high on arousal to be open? 

Sherlock arched one eyebrow at the comment, taking John deeper and holding, revealing, swallowing, then he wetly pulled back off with a sigh and a shudder, “I could do that for you… if you... wanted. If you asked...”

“Y-yeah?” John asked, feeling his heart rate flutter, pleasure increased ten fold by the mental images alone, “A-And your voice. I like your voice.”

“Oh I know that one already,” Sherlock dismissed with a smug grin, fingers stroking and rubbing and squeezing at the base of John’s cock, angling him to better smear the head along the top of his opening mouth.

“Bit obvious, was I?” John chuckled breathlessly, groaning in the back of his throat, a deep, buzzing, guttural groan, as Sherlock slicked his tongue along his frenulum with a teasing little flick. “ _Ahh fuck_.”

Humming loudly in response, loud enough to send waves of vibrations throughout his pelvis, Sherlock took one of John’s hands and slipped it into his hair, eyelids fluttering at the simple motion, jaw opening wider, breath coming in harder. John carefully tangled his fingers into those curls, those waves, stroking gently before using his grasp on them to push and pull Sherlock on and off his cock, slowly at first, teasingly so, letting himself catch and drag over his teeth with the lightest, gentlest of movements, then quicker, finding the sound of Sherlock's lips closing over him, his tongue slurping under him, violently stimulating. Sherlock let out muffled moans, swallowing, enjoying the pressure that John was putting on his follicles. He writhed on his knees, trousers tight over his own eagerness, his own straining, growing length, and John stared down at it for a moment, at how Sherlock’s hips undulated, and quivered. Loving every moment, every sensation. Sherlock was wearing dark trousers, but even they couldn’t hide the dampening spot of pre-ejaculate, the twitch of his confined crotch. It must have hurt, just a little, with nothing between his bare, hot, hardened skin and the cold stiffness of his zip. Sherlock didn’t wear underwear much, John knew, didn’t have anything else beneath his trousers, nothing but warm, pale skin, now probably red with arousal and sticky slick.

“I'm _close_ ,” John warned when the tingling in his abdomen extended and burnt hotter, expanding inside him as his orgasm got nearer, as Sherlock swallowed him further down his throat, controlling his gag reflex impressively. He quickly gave Sherlock's hair a sharp tug. “You're _sure_ you want it in your mouth?” 

Sherlock keened wantonly in response and gave a short, rapid nod, eyes rolling back as he gasped, bucked and whipped his tongue up against the slit in anticipation, “ _Yeah_ ,” he husked, sweating and shaking, seemingly incapable of stopping himself from rutting, grinding against the clinging trousers. 

“Alright… Okay, wait... just... just put my cock on your tongue and open your mouth,” John grunted, toes curling in the carpet as his hips began a steady movement, thrusting forward, pushing his shaft and tip against Sherlock's embracing tongue. It was hot, wet and utterly perfect, and John could feel himself almost at the peak by the way it wiggled and clutched. “Shit… _Fucking hell_ … M'gunna _come_.”

Trying to focus and keep still, Sherlock moaned again and grabbed for John’s thighs, clawing and stroking the tensing muscles there as he squirmed in abandon, greedily opening his mouth an inch more. Impatiently waiting, wanting, his body taut and juddering. He was close to the edge as well. John could almost taste it in the air. Like they were connected, somehow linked, exquisitely synchronised with each other. The concocted notion only made more prominent when Sherlock arched, flexing his hips forward, and let out a satisfied whimper as John's hands tensed against Sherlock's scalp and he bucked up, pushed forward, and pulsed hard and copious into Sherlock's mouth, until his tongue was coated with thick white. So much that he had to pull back to allow Sherlock to swallow.

John's legs felt weak, like he could barely keep them straight, keep himself up and he sighed, sagging with a breathless, blissed laugh, and staggering aside to catch himself on the edge of Sherlock’s bed, " _Fuck_..." he whispered and slipped down to his knees, breathing hard, cock still dripping.

Sherlock shivered and turned to look at him, “I… I _think_ I… prefer it up my chest,” he said with a wet gasping chuckle, wiping his mouth on his wrist and wrinkling his nose.

John snorted, watching, and took a minute or two to get his strength back, then reached for and lifted Sherlock up so they could both fall onto their sides across the bed, looking at one another, “I feel like my body is made out of jelly,” he muttered.

“A _very_ good looking jelly,” Sherlock drawled with a slight slur, nosing across his cheek and reaching to grab large handfuls of his robe. “Not a very _flavoursome_ one though…”

“I should have warned you, but you did insist,” John giggled, sweeping a hand through Sherlock's hair, petting and combing and fluffing. “You don't ever have to do it again. - I like the idea of rubbing it into your chest more anyway... making you smell like me...”

Humming, moving to half slump over him, Sherlock reached down to undo his trousers, getting his hands wet, “Do you want to taste _me_?” 

“ _God_... not really but... well, it's... it's only fair, right? - Gimme your finger then,” John sighed playfully.

Sherlock gave a crooked, impish grin and lifted a smeared index finger, drawing it along the inside of John’s lips before he pushed it to his tongue, "Only fair..."

John sucked, tasting the musky come. It wasn't pleasant, not exactly, but incredibly sexy to know that this was Sherlock, this was his essence that John was tasting and taking into himself, so he licked between each digit, chasing the flavour before pulling back with a pop, “I haven't done it twice in a row since my early twenties...” John mumbled idly, looking down at his cock, which leaked another dribble of come against the black fabric of his new pants, “but... but you make me want to give it a go.”

“Good to know,” Sherlock whispered and stretched, arching off the bed to undress, throwing his clothes into a messy pile on the floor, entire pinked and sweaty skin displayed. “I should plan ahead for these things… keep my things ejaculate free…”

“Mmhm, probably going to end up killing the polar bears with the amount of washing you'll have to do.” 

“I don’t do half of my washing.” 

“No, that's very true,” John nodded with a resigned sigh. “I'll be the one washing your jizzy pants from now on, eh?”

“ _Boys_?” Mrs Hudson's voice lilted as she made her way up. Judging by sound she was carrying a tray, which could only mean that she had been baking, and that she was staying for a chat. "You home?"

“ _Shit_!” John hissed, jumping up, tucking himself away, and pulling his robe closed, already feeling the hot shame, the boiling crawl of embarrassment. Like being caught by your mother with your trousers at your ankles. Sherlock, however, didn't seem bothered and didn't move an inch, just threw his arms up above his head and smirked, watching as John collected the recently discarded clothing and rushed through to the kitchen for his own pile. He then dumped it all into the washing hamper and tried to seem nonchalant, tried to look as if he hadn't just had his dick sucked and sprinted around to destroy any evidence.

"Boys?"

John opened his mouth to call back but paused, glanced back to Sherlock's bedroom, at the lack of movement, and silently went back, glaring even as he leaned over and gave Sherlock's lips a hot, sweet kiss, tapping his leg, “ _Come on_! She'll be smug. We don't want her smug, do we? - Don't want to... to encourage this behaviour!” he warned.

Leaving an unperturbed Sherlock, John slipped into the bathroom as he heard her arrive and made a show of flushing the toilet, washing his hands, and padding to with surprised smile, " _Oh_! I thought I heard you coming up, Mrs Hudson," he greeted, making sure not to narrow his eyes on her and taking a Santa gingerbread man when she handed it to him, giving him a knowing look. "Thanks. Smells great and probably tastes _just_ as—"

“So, the pants worked then?”

John would have preferred it if he dropped down dead.

**Author's Note:**

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